Cheyenne
by SelDear
Summary: It was a Gate class ship, out of the Colorado yards. They called her 'Cheyenne' and set her free to ride through the 'verse on a worm of light. And then they encountered the crew of 'Serenity'. [Firefly crossover with Stargate SG1]
1. Chapter 1

**NOTES**: This story was written at the behest of wisdomeagle, who requested Stargate SG-1 and Firefly with a secret and a discovery in the 'Crossover Ficathon, Oct 2005'. It's set in the Firefly timeline between 'War Stories' and 'Trash' and not set in the SG-1 timeline at all. If it helps, think of it as a cross-breed, not a crossover.

**Cheyenne**

Wash and Kaylee were studying the other ship with surprise and speculation in their eyes when Mal passed the cargo hatch.

"Gate-class," Wash was saying as Mal paused to see what they were jawing about.

"Refitted," said Kaylee, shading her eyes the better to see the other ship. "Gate-class shouldn't be able to land like that - no blocks, no landing frame." The other hand lifted to sketch a diagram in the air. "See the replating just above the engines? Must be a Buzzard G-23 insides - it would fit if you rearranged the emissions outline so they didn't go through the heating coils."

Wash squinted into the morning sun. "Buzzard G-23? That's a big refit job. And it would decrease your maneuvreability, too."

His exasperation with his crewmembers grew.

Lenarth wasn't more than a couple of hours from the local centre of Alliance operations, and that was a couple of hours too close to the government - at least for Mal. They were in a more deserted section of Lenarth - out near a middle-sized town rather than one of the larger cities on the planet - but that was no call to laze about as though they had all day.

"A good one if you know what you're doing. And they knew what they were doing." Kaylee said, admiration scrawled all over her face and in her voice.

Mal took another look at the ship. It looked like a ship to him, and an ugly one at that. Alliance-make, all straight lines and angles, none of the graceful curves of _Serenity_.

"Do _you_ know what you're doing?" He asked his crewmembers and was pleased to see them turn, looking slightly guilty as they sat in the mule at the bottom of Serenity's cargo ramp. "Jawing away when you're _supposed_ to be headed for the town to pick up those things you said you needed. Now, I'm letting you head out to the town out of the goodness of my heart, but you'd best be quick about getting what you need there. Once we pick up the shipment, we'll want out of here fast."

"That would be because this is one of those shipments that could get us chased halfway across Alliance space?" Wash asked. When Mal gave him a look he shrugged. "I'm just asking."

Kaylee had turned back to the Gate-class ship already. "We're waiting for Simon and River. They're coming with us."

Mal frowned. "What is this? An outing for all the crew?"

"Oh, come on, Captain," coaxed his mechanic with a sidewise glance. "We've been cooped up on the ship for nearly four weeks now - Caleddon was the last stop where we were allowed out."

"That's because there was civil unrest on Sarjevor."

The look Kaylee gave him was disappointed. "Four weeks, Captain!"

Mal gave up. No point in arguing with Kaylee; she could twist him around her little finger if she tried. "You're to be back on the ship before sunset." He glanced around as River bounced down the ramp and climbed onto the back of the mule, her skirt tangling in her boots as she perched on the back. She looked normal - or, at least, as normal as she ever got, and Mal could only suppose that whatever the young doctor had started giving her after Ariel was working.

It was one less thing that Mal needed to worry about anyway.

Simon nodded briefly at him as he climbed onto the mule with his sister, Kaylee, and Wash and paused to flip his sister's skirt out of the way.

Mal figured Simon Tam wasn't doing too badly for a rich kid who'd found himself with an insane sister to look after, a touchy captain to placate, and a young, pretty ship mechanic's interest to return all at once. At least the young man wasn't looking so starchy these days. The clothing was still a bit fine, but at least the Doc didn't look like he'd just stepped out of one of them fancy restaurants on Persephone.

"Behave yourselves," Mal reminded them as Wash revved the mule and began driving off.

"Yes, sir, Captain Tightpants, sir," Kaylee sang out, giggling a little at her mischievous call.

Mal shook his head at her teasing, and turned to go back inside. But as the mule drove off, his eye rested on the bulk of the Gate-class.

Refit or not, it was an ugly ship.

-oOo-

Mal felt - quite strongly - that there was no need for the second laser-pistol trained on him. The lawman had Mal in his sights, no need to get twitchy about it.

Then again, he supposed that if he'd been the lawman, he would have had two pistols on him, too. Because if the lawman didn't have two pistols pointing at Mal, Mal would have taken his chances with ducking behind the crates they were supposed to be picking up from this warehouse.

Still weren't no cause to get twitchy about it.

"So, let me get this straight," drawled the man as he looked from Mal to Zoë to Jayne. "You just happen to be on Lenarth as there's a shipment to go, with a Firefly-class that's been reported on the Cortex at least twice in the last year?"

"Hey, that weren't us!" Jayne snapped. He shut up as the big man pointing the gun at him shifted, ever so slightly. Mal was impressed. Jayne did crude and gruff as a matter of personality; this guy did intimidating with nothing more than a lift of the eyebrow.

"Look, there's no need to be getting pushy," he told the leader, trying to be pleasant about it, gain himself a bit of ease. The guns trained on Mal never wavered. "We're just collecting a cargo we were paid to deliver."

"Uh-huh," came the reply. The man was tall, and his hair was going grey, but the eyes were dark and sharp. Not as old as Book, not as young as Mal, and looking more than a little irritated at finding himself in the midst of this.

Mal could relate. "Look," he said, figuring he'd be best off telling some of the truth. "We came here to pick up some goods for offworld. Legitimate. Ain't no value in speculating, maybe getting in trouble for it. The pay offered was good and we took it for a job."

He didn't tell the lawman that he'd guessed the job was shady - why hire _Serenity_ if it was up and honest? _Serenity_ did her best job in the shadows, although the occasional legitimate job wasn't to be sneered at. Money was money after all. Mal wasn't Badger, looking for a smear of respectability; he stuck to his honour. That was enough - and the only currency that counted.

"They might be telling the truth, Jack," offered the third man, though his gun never wavered from Zoë's chest.

Younger, dark-haired, blue eyed, Mal would have picked him as the most likely to believe whatever story they concocted to get them out of this. Jack, on the other hand, looked like the kind of man who'd seen trouble in all shapes and forms and was reasonably convinced that Mal was more of the same.

He'd have been right, but that wasn't a helpful thought.

"And they might not," came the reply. "Doesn't matter, Daniel. We'll hand them over to the magistrate and let him sort them out. You can consider it our civic duty for the year."

"You could just let us go," Mal suggested.

"I could," said Jack, amiably. "I'm not going to. So we're going to do this the nice way, okay?"

"The nice way?" Zoë asked, speaking for the first time.

"Does that involve you letting us go, _hún dàn_?" Jayne demanded angrily, and probably not without a bit of panic-covered toughness. _Serenity_ might be flagged on the Cortex, but Jayne was on record as having accompanied Simon and River onto Ariel. It tended to make a man a mite twitchy when it came to being taken in officially. "Or does that involve me grabbing this guy's gun and beating you over the head with it?"

"It involves your silence," said the big man, his deep voice weighty and intent. The kind of voice that said what it meant and meant what it said. And right now, Mal judged that it meant being very quiet.

"The nice way involves us not shooting you," Jack said to Mal. "The not-so-nice way gets messy. Your crew dies or gets injured, we hold a grudge, yadda-yadda, it's not pretty. You don't want that."

Mal didn't. On the other hand, he didn't much want to be handed over to the magistrate either. But the lawman meant what he said - or gave a very good impression of it - and he and Daniel covered the big guy as he put the handcuffs on Jayne.

They were good. Mal gave them that, even as he pondered possibilities for getting out of the situation in which they'd been caught red-handed.

He didn't even know what the _gorram_ cargo was.

Their contact had assured them that the warehouses were deserted at this time of day; given the heat of the midday sun, Mal could understand why. What he didn't understand was what the lawman and his team were doing on site at a time when the place was supposed to be deserted.

"You know..." Mal began as they were marched across the warehouse floor.

"Yep," said Jack. "I know."

Mal frowned. That wasn't the way the conversation was supposed to run. "I didn't even finish."

"That's because I'm not interested in listening."

Mal kept his frown to himself this time. He was used to coming across lawmen: Alliance-bred, all of them, with a certain attitude to them, a certain disdain for him and his crew as they skipped across the border planets breaking the rules.

This lawman might object to rule-breaking, but he was missing the stick up his _pì gu_ - a trait typical of the breed.

They were nearly at the door when there was a hiss of static from the walkie-phone at the lawman's hip. "Sir?"

The lawman frowned as he took up the walkie-phone, but his eyes never wavered from the trio he and his friends were herding. Even the other two took a step back, giving them a second's more grace if they had to shoot.

"Carter?"

Over the walkie-phone, the voice was calm, even, and practical as she stated, "We have a problem."

Zoë shifted, and Mal shook his head at her ever so slightly. No attempts now. The lawman might have something else on his mind, but it was too open here and the lawmen had too much of a drop on them right now. Later, maybe, when opportunity presented itself.

"Are you going to define problem for me?"

"A bunch of heavily-armed men just drove into the town and have started holding locals hostage."

Town. Where Kaylee, Wash, Simon and River were. Mal's stomach lurched uncomfortably as he glanced at Zoë.

From the look of it, the lawman wasn't any happier about the news than Mal. There was concern in his voice as he asked, "Where are you and Jonas?"

"I'm in the hardware store, but I left Jonas out in the trashyard looking for a rollover coupling and those boltheads he was worried about." There was a pause. "I can't see out the door but--"

"Don't venture out. We're on our way."

"We could do with reinforcements," added the woman. "Don't have much by way of weaponry, sir."

"Sit tight and do what you can do. Don't get captured. Or killed. How many?"

"At least thirty."

The lawman swore vividly and creatively. "We'll be there in fifteen. Sit tight."

"Sitting tight, sir. Carter out."

No sooner had the radio gone dead, than Jack turned on his heel. "Right. We'll dump these in the storeroom over there and call the magistrate. They can be picked up later."

"Whoa! Wait right there!" Mal intervened. "You need reinforcements."

"And you think we're going to take you? T, Daniel, prod them along. I'm going to find us some transport."

"Uh, you know that's stealing, Jack?"

"Borrowing, Daniel," Jack said. "Get it right - it's borrowing."

Interesting morals in a lawman. Mal nearly commented but decided to keep that card for later. Instead, he turned to follow Jack as the other man began to walk away. He felt Daniel's weapon pointed at his spine, but figured the other man wouldn't shoot just yet.

He hoped.

"You know, we got people in that town, same as you. Four of my crew went into the town this morning."

There was a flash of irritation in the lawman's dark eye. "And I'm supposed to care about this _why_?"

"Because you've got people in there, too. People I think you care about. And she said they could do with reinforcements. Thirty men, heavily armed - the three of you ain't gonna walk in there and walk out again like a stroll in the park."

It was a gamble. Mal was aware of that. But he could hope that the guy was willing to listen.

There was a moment when the man considered it before he shook his head. "I don't know you and I'm not about to. I can't trust you not to shoot me or my team in the back - I'm certainly not gonna trust him," he jerked his head at Jayne.

Then he jerked his gun at the door that had just opened.

It was a perfect time to leap.

Mal stared as Book walked into the warehouse. "Captain?" He paused and his gaze took in the crew of the Serenity and the three men holding them at gunpoint. "I see the usual state of affairs prevails."

"Funny that," said Jack. "What the hell--?"

Book regarded the lawman with a steady gaze as he ran a finger inside his collar, easing the tension there. "I realise this may not look good...lawman." There was a slight lean on the term of address. "But whatever these people have been caught doing--"

"You're going to vouch for them...Shepherd?" The lawman returned the pause, but he was surprised. "Smuggling psychotropics?"

_Psychotropics?_

"They were books!" Mal protested with a sinking feeling. "Shipment of books." Then again, given how shady this was, it wasn't that much of a surprise. He could feel Zoë's eyes on him. Food supplies, medical theft, stealing priceless items and fencing them, fine; recreational drugs were a little riskier. Not because Mal considered it wrong, just that the way drugs were manufactured tended to be...flexible. And the results might send you to heaven, or it might send you to hell.

"The pages of the books are made from the drug leaves," said blue-eyes. "You could probably read it as a book, but you wouldn't want to for too long." He grimaced. "And you wouldn't want to lick your fingers to turn the page."

"I don't believe Captain Reynolds knew that," Book said, never looking away from Jack.

"Regardless," Jack noted. "We've got a situation on our hands...Shepherd."

"And so do we," said Book. He turned to Mal. "I received a hailing from Wash. There's trouble in town."

"See?" Mal said. "Look, my people are down there." He indicated Zoë, who now had the _I'm going to kill anyone who gets between me and my husband_ look that had sent fear into the heart of many a hardened man. "Her husband - my pilot - is in the town. Now, you can tie us all up here, but that's four hands that you won't have to help you - and three against thirty ain't gonna do you much good."

Silence, while the other man considered the offer.

"I'll vouch for them," said Book quietly.

Jack studied him for a long moment. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Fine." Jack tossed the keys to Book. "You can unlock 'em."

Mal looked into the Shepherd's eyes as Book unlocked his restraints. There was more going on here than just a lawman's belief in a Shepherd's judgement of men and women. "You got history or something?"

"There are still places in the 'verse where a Shepherd's word is good," Book told him with a hand on the shoulder.

"Not out here there ain't," Mal muttered. "What're you hiding, preacher?"

Book met his gaze without flinching or hiding. Unlike his usual stolid gaze, the look he gave Mal had sharp edges and a warning. "Just keep Jayne reined in and it will be fine."

The lawman and his pair were already out the door - probably looking for that transport to 'borrow'.

"Can we trust them?"

The preacher had already moved on to unlock Zoë's cuffs. "I believe we can."

Mal knew he wasn't going to get anything more from the close-lipped preacher, so he let it slide. But he and Book would be having a long talk about secrets when they got back to _Serenity_.

A _long_ talk.

--


	2. Chapter 2

**NOTES:** Thanks to everyone who sent feedback for Part One - it was lovely to know that people were intrigued by the story. For those who didn't quite catch on in the first part, this is a cross-breed: SG-1 characters in the Firefly 'verse but with some constants remaining the same. Can anyone imagine Jack _not _in charge of his team?**  
**

**C****heyenne  
Part Two**

Simon worked at getting a tourniquet on the bleeding woman. There wasn't much else he could do without the tools of his trade. He didn't even have a basic medkit - the hardware store in which they were taking shelter didn't seem to have one. From the flow of blood, he guessed that she'd been hit in the femoral artery and would need surgery that he couldn't give her now.

Thankfully, she was also unconscious on the makeshift pallet that Wash and the blonde woman had put together to drag her inside when the firing first began.

"You know," Wash said from over by the window where he was keeping an eye on the situation outside and filling up gun cartridges, "I thought today was going to be a quiet day. Get out, take some sun, breathe some air, buy Zoë something slinky and without too much material, go back and head back out again. But, no, now it's all guns and shootouts and how to make your own bombs."

The woman kneeling over a series of glass jars and assorted open packets of bits and pieces looked up at his comment, her eyes large and blue, even in the dim light of the store. "Distraction purposes," she said, matter-of-factly, then turned to Kaylee who was carefully mixing together the bits and pieces that the woman had specified. "Careful. Don't put too much gas in the jars."

"Damage purposes," Wash returned. "Although, I'm not opposed to large quantities of damage in situations like this. Just as long as the damage happens to other people."

"Did you speak with the Captain?" Simon asked, sitting back on his haunches and wiping his forehead. He'd already seen to four wounded - three more shot wounds and a gash on a child of ten who'd been dragged around the corner of a building by her mother and caught her arm on a loose nail. There wasn't much he could do - no antiseptics, no painkillers - nothing.

"Couldn't get him on the radio. Got Book, who said he'd head out and look for them."

"Never mind," said the blonde woman, tipping a few drops of liquid into one of the jars. "We've got cavalry coming."

Simon had listened to the conversation from this end. It was interesting listening to the woman address the person on the other end as 'sir' - reminiscent of Zoë and the Captain. He'd seen the odd look on Wash's face as the blonde communicated with her 'cavalry' and it didn't take much interpretation. He was worried about his wife.

Of course, given that his wife was in trouble more often than not, usually right alongside Mal, Simon could understand Wash being worried about Zoë.

Right now, they had other worries.

There was a clatter from the back door of the store, startling them. Wash had his gun out and pointed at the door before he saw who it was.

People scuttled in and were pointed towards the back room of the hardware store where the owner and a lot of other people were presently cowering. Simon had sent River with them, out of harm's way. She was better after Ariel, more stable, but he still worried.

Especially in situations like these.

The last one to come in was a young man who'd volunteered to go out and fetch some items that Simon and the blonde had wanted.

He lugged in the makeshift sack he'd created from a couple of yards of linen and set it down on the floor. In the depths of the material, things clinked gently. The young man hauled out a bottle and handed it to Simon. "Alcohol - it's nearly rotgut." He began unpacking the other bits and pieces and tossed a box over to the blonde. "I found pins and thread. No string."

"Cotton?"

"I think."

"What were you going to do with them?" Kaylee asked, curious.

"Explosions."

Simon looked up from the wound he'd been about to start cleaning. "River, you should be back in the--"

River wasn't looking at him. She was looking at the blonde, meditatively. "Fire in the soul, boiling up like steam, wanting out. The glass shatters and breaks, spilling pain. Like lightning."

It wasn't as disturbing as some of the stuff she'd said in the past, but it wasn't exactly the kind of thing that Simon wanted outsiders to hear and notice. And the blonde woman was looking at River with a startled expression that wasn't quite recognition but which was closer to it than Simon liked.

He opened his mouth to say something and draw the attention away from his sister.

Wash beat him to it. "Poetic," the pilot noted. "Now can we get past the crazy talk to the part where we do something about the men walking towards this building? Because they're definitely coming this way and they definitely don't look happy." He peeked over the window ledge, then flung himself down. "_Wode tìan!_"

That was all the warning Simon needed. He lunged for River, hauling her down to the floor a second before a hail of bullets flew through the windows, spattering shards of glass through the single-roomed shop.

Amidst the screams of the people in the back and the sharp sounds of scraping glass, Simon could hear someone bellowing something from outside. The words weren't distinguishable so Simon didn't bother listening.

The blonde raised herself up from the floor and jerked her head at the window. "Jonas, can you hold them off for a bit? Outside walls are brick construction. They'll hold for a couple more rounds yet." Jonas gave her a look - probably implying that she was insane - and she held up one of the glass jars. "I need you to cover for me enough so I have time to throw at least one of these."

"What? Just one?" Wash asked, grabbing for the gun.

"One of this kind will be enough," said the blonde. "The ones your friend was making are smaller."

"Actually, I don't get why we need them at all." At the look she turned on him, Wash shrugged. "I'm a pilot. Not a...bomb-maker."

The woman flashed a quick grin. "It's a hobby," she said, "And I don't see anything to fly around here. Jonas, how many are there?"

"Seven of them coming towards us," Jonas reported. The muzzle of his gun slipped over the lip of the window and he fired off four shots. "Six now. A dozen more beyond."

Another hail of bullets began spattering across the front of the shop. "What do they _want_?" Simon asked, keeping River down on the floor. It was more difficult than he liked; she was trying to get away.

"Whatever it is, they're willing to shoot up an entire township to get it," said Wash. He fired off a couple of rounds then ducked again. The thud of bullets smacking into the outside brickwork resounded through the store. "Us, too."

"Goods changed hands," River said, picking herself up from the floor. "Only forgeries. Not the things that were promised. And he promised a pound of flesh."

Simon shushed her. The blonde was watching again - and when she looked at Simon he felt as though he was being measured. To cover the feeling - and distract from River - he asked, "How far away was your 'cavalry' when you spoke with them?"

"Fifteen out," she said briskly as she carefully opened a packet of crystals and dropped a few into the jar. "Can you keep them busy for a few minutes more?"

"Sam..."

She was already directing Kaylee to collect the jars, and River squirmed out from under him. "I'll help!"

He grabbed for her wrist, but she'd already eluded him. "River!"

"Get your patient out to the back room with the others," said the woman. "Make sure they're in the corner farthest from the door - as many of them right up against the pillars of the house, okay?"

Simon stared at her and the jar in her hand. "What does it do?"

Her smile was slight. "A lot of damage."

The understated air with which she spoke said as much - and a whole lot more. Simon knelt down beside his patient, checking the tourniquet. He'd have to let it loose in a few minutes so a little blood could run through the leg. He did it now, keeping a careful eye on River and Kaylee as they co-opted trays in which to carry the jars under the direction of the woman.

"Sam!" Jonas called from the front of the store, "They're approaching!"

She swore pithily. "Hold them back for one more minute!"

"I don't know if I can!"

"Try!" Kaylee and River were directed to Simon. "Help him move the patient and get into the back room. I'm headed out the back," she said.

"Sam..."

One edge of her jacket was flipped back to show the gun in her arm holster. "Trust me. And get away from the windows first chance you get."

"Be careful!"

She probably didn't even hear him as she ran across the floor in a controlled crouch, long legs and an athlete's body. During a break in the firing, she ducked out the back door, closing it quietly behind her.

"So," Wash said as the firing started up again. "Is she usually like that?"

Jonas snorted and fired off another couple of rounds before scrabbling for the refill. "Usually, yeah. Why?"

"Oh, she just reminds me of my wife. She's got that whole 'scary' thing going."

The other man grinned.

Simon tied the tourniquet tight around the woman's leg. "Wash, I'll need help to pull her over to the backroom."

"Right. Will you be okay here?" Wash asked the other man. "I mean, people shooting, bullets everywhere..."

The other man grinned as he pocketed a box of ammunition and crawled over to grab Wash's gun, indicating the woman on the pallet. "Sam said to get away from the windows."

"Oh, yeah. That bomb thing." Wash crouched down by Simon. "Ready?"

In the back room, the air was rank with the crowded scents of nearly two-dozen bodies. Most were already huddled up against the back wall in fear for their lives, those that weren't were asking questions that neither Wash nor Simon could answer.. The woman was laid beneath a sturdy wooden table, still unconscious, and there was time for him to press up beside Kaylee and River, with Wash and Jonas crouching mere feet away.

"So," Wash said as they waited, "when can we expect the explosion to happen?"

Jonas shrugged, even as River lifted her face from Kaylee's shoulder. "Now," she whispered.

A second later the earth trembled and the air rocked with shockwaves as the explosion Sam had promised, happened.

--

**TBC **


	3. Chapter 3

**Cheyenne  
Part Three **

It wasn't quite the triumphal rescue that Jack had imagined in his mind.

He should have expected Carter would find something to blow up. Of course, previously, she'd stuck to smaller thing: vehicles, ships, buildings. Half a town was a new order of magnitude for her.

Quietly frantic, they'd reached the township of Big Orden (and if this was _Big_ Orden, then Jack never wanted to see _Little_ Orden) only to discover that the thirty men had been routed by two not-quite-so-sharpshooters and one blonde pilot with a fondness for do-it-yourself explosives made from the ransacked goods of a local hardware store.

Most of the townspeople were even standing.

He glanced over at Reynolds and his crew: the blond man with the painfully colourful t-shirt was hugging the dark-skinned woman with the deadly eyes, while the young mechanic in the grease-spotted overalls looked far too young to be looking after a ship's engines.

The young man who'd turned out to be a doctor had been promptly dragged off by one of the locals to help the actual town doctor with the injured. The guy who reminded Jack of one of his old war-buddies but was quite definitely _not_ Dixon - the beard looked awful - was saying something emphatically to Reynolds, gesturing in Jack's direction with a nasty look in his eye.

He caught a glimpse of T, standing back from the main street, keeping a weather eye on the situation. Jack had little doubt that his friend had the measure of every one of Reynolds' crew, from the mercenary, down to the mechanic.

He _knew_ his friend had the measure of the man who'd been no Shepherd the last time Jack had faced him.

It would be tempting to go over to the now-preacher who was quietly performing the last rites over the dead raiders and demand an explanation. Somehow, Jack wasn't quite up to that. Old habits died hard, he supposed. Although, at least he could send a coded message to Hammond via the Cortex. The old general fretted worse than a mother hen.

Not that Jack and his crew hadn't given him cause enough for fretting.

That was all under the bridge by now.

"Jack."

He barely glanced at the man who paused next to him. "Daniel."

"When were you planning to tell him that his ship's on lockdown?"

Jack glanced at Daniel, noting the disapproval in his crewmate's expression. "Hm. 'Never' comes to mind."

"Jack..."

"Daniel. They're smugglers."

Up went the eyebrows. "So are we."

"No, we're freighters," Jack replied. "The difference is a question of legitimacy." No dodgy jobs. A few investigations on behalf of old Alliance contacts, but Jack and his crew had broken with the Alliance several years ago. The ties that remained were of affection, not of duty.

And Jack preferred it that way.

"Sophistry, actually." Daniel looked out over the wreck of the town. "I wouldn't advise letting them take the drug shipment out, but they haven't been paid for the job."

"So?"

"So they're not going to get into trouble if we just let them go."

"Daniel, _we're_ going to get into trouble if we just let them go. There are rules about these things."

The snort that issued from the man beside him was disbelieving. "I'm sorry? I think I've just turned up in the next 'verse over. Did I hear Jack O'Neill say there are _rules_ to be followed?"

"Very funny, Daniel. No, you won't tell him that his ship's on lockdown. He'll work it out soon enough when he tries to leave."

"Jack..."

He wasn't in the mood for another lecture from Daniel. And he was missing at least one crewmember considering that he could see Jonas accepting a plate of food off a young woman who was smiling ingratiatingly up at him. He shook his head. Between Jonas and Daniel, the local girls usually managed to find themselves head-over-heels in love with one of them. Sometimes both. "Go get yourself some of what Jonas is eating. I'm going to find Carter."

Behind him, Daniel huffed, but Jack paid him no attention as he began circling the wrecks of the town buildings.

There were more than a few sideways glances at him as he walked and he was careful to nod and be seen to be amiable. No point in giving the locals anything more to worry about than they already had. Half the town in ruins and bad business prospects.

Jack had the nasty feeling that there was a reckoning coming, simply because that was what reckonings did.

He hunted around for Carter in and out of the shops along the main street, figuring that she wouldn't have ventured that far.

He finally found her hunkered down in the dust behind the water pump watching a young woman drip mud through her fingers.

"Sir?" He'd told her to lose the 'sir' more times than he could count. She hadn't yet, claiming habit was hard to break. Privately, Jack wondered if it gave her the space she seemed to need to deal with him and took it as a nickname of sorts, rather like the way he called her 'Carter'.

"Just checking the damage."

"Yes. Sorry about the mess."

"I'm not the one you should be apologising to," Jack pointed out. "And if this costs, it's coming out of your pay."

"I get paid?" Carter's mouth curved in a brief smile as Jack glared at her quip. "Actually, sir, it should be coming out of the pay of the Mayor."

Jack frowned at her. "Why?"

"Pound of flesh," said the girl in eerie answer. Jack felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle as he met hazel eyes that looked confidingly at him. "He kept reality for himself, refusing to share it. And like a miser, it ate him up inside, flesh and bone and blood and soul. Spat him out again into the dust."

When Jack looked at Carter for translation, she was looking at the girl with something like pity. Finding his eyes upon her, she coughed. "The mayor sold some valuables to an offworld dealer for a large amount of money."

"But he cheated the dealer," Jack muttered. "And this was revenge?"

"This was revenge," she said.

He nodded. "And the mayor?"

"Sitting in his parlour, counting out his money." The girl answered.

One eyebrow arched at Carter. "Do I even want to know?"

She shrugged, indicating that she had no more idea than he did. _Okay_.

"Guess I'd better go hunt him down," he said. "Don't go anywhere, Carter. Once we get this town business sorted out, we're off this ball of rock."

"Yes, sir," Carter said, glancing at the girl. "If you don't mind, I might stay here a little longer."

The girl looked up from the patterns she was drawing in the mud and her eyes fixed on Jack. "Can't go anywhere anyway. Won't be reaching the sky at all."

Jack walked away feeling more than a little weirded out by the girl. There was something not exactly right about eyes like that. And her answers weren't completely off the planet, but they weren't phrased right, either.

He shook it off, at least until after the confrontation with the Mayor.

That was the hell of being Alliance reps; you got the dirty work. Reynolds had this smirk on his face that said, quite clearly, 'Better you than me.' But Jack - with some help from Daniel and Jonas - got things mostly sorted out. Mostly.

The Mayor was proving obstinate until Reynolds' mercenary stabbed a bit of meat on the tip of his knife and started eating it with great relish. Then it occurred to him that he'd endangered the friends of some rather dangerous people, and his attempts to retreat and make things right were a thing of great beauty and greater amusement.

They left the townsfolk to it and Jack called in his team. "Right, we're off."

"Jack..."

"Daniel."

Carter eyed them both. "Sir, may I have a word?"

She took him across the street beneath the spreading leaves of a young oak. This end of the town was more or less intact; it was the other end that was mostly flattened. "This had better be about the Mayor. Or the items that you came down here to get."

"It's about _Serenity_."

That floored him. "Se-what?"

"Serenity. The ship that River and her brother came in on."

Oh. _That_ ship. "The Firefly."

"Right. Sir... You've locked down the ship."

He supposed Daniel must have been talking to her about that. Complaining probably - trying to get Carter to side with him. The man had his sneaky side when he got on one of his hobby-horses. Sometimes Jack was willing to indulge him, sometimes he yanked the other man up short.

"They're smugglers, Carter. You know that." Jack frowned slightly. "If you're going to argue Daniel's point for him, then don't bother. You're going to get the same answer."

Her eyes could be very expressive, but right now, they were flat and hard. "No, sir, I'm not."

That pricked his temper. "And you would know this _how_?"

She took a deep breath. "I know this because River Tam - the girl I was talking to at the water pump- went to the Academy on Central."

_The Academy._

Jack saw red. For one, brief, blinding moment, he couldn't see anything but red. A moment later, he felt a touch on his arm and his vision cleared. Carter was still facing him, her eyes earnest. "They don't need trouble."

_No more than we do._

Down the road, Reynolds was looking itchy to leave. Jack took a deep breath. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

That was good enough for him. He'd learned to trust the instincts of all his crew over the years. "Okay."

From the oak tree to Reynolds seemed like a long way to go; maybe it was just the hazel eyes of the girl that fixed on him as he walked towards them, like a tangible weight on his chest.

Then he remembered the shapes the girl had been drawing in the mud and stopped. Angular characters that Jack recognised - and which the girl couldn't have known. _Shouldn't_ have known.

Unless she'd been to the Academy.

Reynolds saw him pause, came out to meet him, standing between Jack and his crew. Protective. Jack recognised that at least.

They were a lot alike in this at least.

_They don't need trouble._

"So, lawman," Reynolds said, "what happens now?" There was a wariness in the man's eyes. Jack guessed that the man might not be outgunned in terms of pure numbers, but he was disadvantaged by having at least three non-combatants in his crew - and one wildcard that he knew nothing about - and _knew_ he knew nothing about.

Jack looked him straight in the eye. "You take your crew, go back to your ship and leave the planet. You don't take the cargo you were sent to pick up. Make up a story, lie, whatever it takes. But you don't take it, you just leave."

Reynolds stared. "That's all?"

"That's all."

"Why?"

Jack shrugged. "Paperwork's a bitch," he said, acting casual.

"Uh-huh." Reynolds didn't believe him.

"No, really, it is. Terrible stuff. I'm better off without it. Just as you're better off without the cargo." That was all the warning he'd give the man. "You're free to go, Captain Reynolds. Good luck to you and your crew." _Both 'Shepherd Book' and that kid who's been messed with nine ways to hell._

Jack turned on his heel and walked away, collecting his crew with a wave.

"So...?" Jonas fell into step beside Jack.

"We're going back to the ship," Jack told him. "That's all."

The younger man had more discretion than Daniel. He just nodded. "Okay."

They'd make their way slowly back to the ship, wait until the Firefly - what was the name Carter had given her? Oh, _Serenity_ - wait until _Serenity_ had lifted off and made hyper, then report the illegal goods and the raiders to the local Alliance group. His history would get them out of the interrogation that usually followed, and then they'd be off Lenarth and somewhere else.

And so would the _Serenity_ and all souls on board her.

As Jack caught Carter's eye and saw her smile, he felt oddly relieved for a man who'd earlier been chafing at having nothing to do.

It wasn't quite the triumphal rescue he'd planned.

But it felt good anyway.

-oOo-

Mal finally found Book in the galley, pottering around behind the stores and keeping an eye on River who was thumbing through a book he'd given her and muttering to herself.

"He knew you."

"Shepherds are well known in the 'verse."

"Now that ain't what I meant and you know it. He knew you. And you knew him."

Book ignored the implicit question, continuing to prepare the food. But Mal waited. He was good at waiting when he had to be. Done it long enough while fighting in the war. You got used to waiting. You got used to waiting for answers.

"Inara once said that we're all running from something, Captain." The old man's words were measured, but he never looked up from his work. "Not all from the same thing, but we're all running."

"See, this is where I got a problem, preacher," Mal said. "I know what I'm running from. I don't know what you're running from. And I don't much like being kept in the dark. I like to know what's behind me. Tells me whether I should run faster or stand and fight."

"My secrets are not the kind that catch up with a man," said Book.

"See, you can tell me that now, but I don't know for sure. All I know is that I got a ship full of secrets and the people who're keepin' 'em. I don't want to be rude, Shepherd, but I don't want to be turning around one of these days and finding that your secrets have caught up with us. Gets me worried."

The galley was full of silence, even through the turning of River's pages and the small noises of the Shepherd's food preparation. Finally, Book looked up, and the dark eyes in the lined face looked even older and more solemn than usual. "Captain, let me assure you that my secrets are better off left where they are: safely in the grave of who I was. You'll cause more trouble for yourself if you try to dig them out. And we don't want trouble."

It wasn't a threat. Not exactly. But it was a warning, plain and clear.

"No," he said at last. "We don't."

Book just kept preparing his food with slow, patient movements, and eventually, Mal turned away. He couldn't argue with the Shepherd's words, but he could wait. He was still twitchy about these secrets, but he could wait.

He was still twitchy about today - being caught and being let go.

O'Neill and his crew were ex-Alliance. That much was pretty obvious. So, too, had been the man's intention to ground them on Lenarth and leave them there for the Alliance to find.

So why had the man let them go?

He turned to pass River and was surprised when she offered him the book. Interaction with River Tam was one of those rare things that could end with her laughter, or with her drawing a knife on you.

Mal read the cover. "Myths and Legends of the Greeks. Education in the classics."

"There was a princess of a country," River said solemnly, her eyes never leaving Mal's face, "and she was loved by a god. He gave her the gift of prophecy in exchange for her love, but she reneged on the bargain and was cursed. Whatever she prophesied would never be believed."

Mal had never been into mythology. Real life was difficult enough without adding fairy tales to the mix. "Nice story."

River sobered, her eyes turning sad. "But her people went to war. Thousands upon thousands of men who crashed against the walls of the city and died. So they deceived her people and overcame them, and a prince came to take her away from her home into slavery."

"Okay." Mal put the book down. "I think that's enough Greek legend for today." He shook his head. "It's been a mighty long day and busy to boot."

River caught his wrist. "She was rescued." The girl had a surprisingly strong grip - and if they weren't in morbid and creepifying territory, it was still definitely not normal. "It was a Gate-class ship, out of the Colorado yards. They called her _Cheyenne_, and sent her free to ride through the 'verse on a worm of light."

Mal had to admit, 'worm of light' sounded very elegant for the ugly angles of O'Neill's ship.

River continued, her eyes still fixed on Mal's face.

"And the name of the princess was Cassandra."

- **fin** -

**FEEDBACK**: Makes the muse go 'round!


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